


Rebonded

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Rituals, Unicorns, Wandlore (Harry Potter), Wands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-21 21:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: It should have been a wand with a dragon heartstring core.  Or at least, that’s what a young Draco Malfoy had always expected would happen when he stepped into Ollivanders at age eleven.  But life hadn't turned out the way he had anticipated.  And in his eighth year at Hogwarts, his problems haven't gone away.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 157
Kudos: 655
Collections: HeartofAspen: A Gift Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeartOfAspen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfAspen/gifts).



> *Sung to the tune of Favorite Things from Sound of Music*
> 
> Eighth years at Hogwarts and unicorn magic,  
> Problems that unsolved could turn out quite tragic,  
> Rituals and research, the fun that they bring,  
> These are a few of HeartofAspen’s favorite things.
> 
> To the wonderfully delightful HeartofAspen,
> 
> Thank you for everything you have done for this fandom, both in the stories you have shared with us and the writing community you helped foster. You have had such a positive impact on so many of us, and I am so grateful to have gotten to know you along the way! I hope you enjoy this story as a small thank you for everything :)
> 
> This story will have three parts, with each new chapter posted every few days. Thank you to mcal for her alpha help and to LightofEvolution for betaing and designing the cover.

Professor Flitwick stood atop a stack of books on his desk for all to see.

“Your first examination of the year will be in two Mondays,” the small wizard announced with his high-squeak voice. 

From the last row of desks, Draco leaned back in his chair and groaned. Great. _More_ examinations. Oh, the pleasures of being forced into another year of school.

He aimlessly dragged the feather end of his quill across the wooden desk, only partially listening as the Charms professor continued. Exams were hardly of concern. Sure, he wanted to maintain good marks, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Draco had already learned all this material last year. Even if he hadn’t, Charms wasn’t difficult. He had mastered the Protean Charm early into sixth year when so many classmates were _still_ struggling with it.

“And in order to better prepare you for the N.E.W.T., there will be both a theoretical and practical portion of the test.”

The movement of his quill froze, his attention now fully alert.

 _Practical portion?_ Draco’s vision flickered towards his hawthorn wand lying untouched on the edge of the desk. Since when did Flitwick include a practical portion to his examinations?

Class must have been dismissed because the surrounding students began to gather their belongings and fill the classroom with their collective chatter. Draco, in no rush to leave for their lunch hour, took his time as everyone else began to file out of the classroom. All of them, except for one other student.

Hair just as wild as ever, Hermione Granger was standing before Flitwick, no doubt asking him for a more comprehensive list of what content would be covered on the exam. As if she didn’t have carefully scripted notes detailing everything Flitwick had discussed each class! It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been at Hogwarts last year. They all knew the damn witch would get perfect marks even if Flitwick gave her the test right now.

Somehow, Granger had become even more bookish in the few months since the end of the war. Without Potter and Weasley there to drag her into their endless antics, that was to be expected. It was like the first month of their first year all over again. Professors would barely start their question before her hand was already raised pin-straight into the air. From her chosen seat in the front centre of every class, it was hard to ignore.

And ignore her, Draco tried his best to do. Problem was, he was utterly failing at it.

Draco mindlessly flipped through the pages of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ as he waited for her to finish. Before long, he caught the faint sound of her thanking Flitwick and heading out of the classroom. She walked past, and Draco’s eyes remained firmly cast downward, not lifting even the slightest to catch a glimpse of her moving form. But as much as he aimed to block out anything having to do with the witch, he was painfully aware of her eyes digging into his back as she left.

The echo of her footsteps faded into the distance, and once he deemed them far enough, Draco released his held breath and closed the textbook. He shoved aside all thoughts of Granger and approached Flitwick.

“Professor,” Draco began, looking up at the wizard who had yet to move from his position atop the books, “I would like to speak with you about the upcoming examination.”

“Yes, Mr Malfoy?”

“You see, I don’t believe it fair that those of us who passed the similar examination last year be required to retake it,” he said, keeping his tone flat and measured as to avoid any other emotions from becoming apparent. “It seems unnecessary to waste our time taking the test and _your_ time grading it just because the Ministry refuses to provide us credit for last year’s schooling.”

Flitwick stepped down from the stack of books, meeting Draco’s eyes on a more equal level. “I understand where you’re coming from,” he said, adjusting the frame of his glasses that had gone slightly askew. “But with all students required to retake the previous school year due to… extenuating circumstances… that also means that all examinations must be retaken as well.”

Draco had to bite his tongue to withhold comment that Perfect Potter and Always-the-Sidekick Weasley were granted special permission to skip their final year at Hogwarts and enter directly into Auror training without taking their N.E.W.T.s.

“Besides,” Flitwick continued, “as I recall, there were a few areas of improvement for your charmwork last year. While your written examinations were near perfect, you had quite the streak of errors on the actual spell execution during classroom practice. Don’t think I don’t remember the time you soaked Mr Boot with a jetstream of water instead of simply filling your goblet. You and I both know you’re capable of much better spellwork.”

The embarrassing incident from last February was hardly what he wanted to think about. And if the present situation didn’t change soon, Draco was heading towards a similar disaster in just a couple weeks.

His mind worked quickly to find another solution.

“Perhaps if you granted me access to a few books in the Restricted Section and I had access to more advanced spellbooks, I could study more of the theoretical and improve my practical.”

Flitwick promptly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Malfoy, but you know perfectly well that you’re banned from all Restricted Section books.”

Ah, yes, a lovely little consequence the Headmistress had so kindly given him for his Death Eater days. 

“I’m sure all you need is a bit more practice,” Flitwick proceeded with an optimistic grin that only a teacher could manage. “Without other influencing pressures, I expect you’ll be back up with the top marks.”

 _“Don’t count on it_ ,” Draco wanted to sneer but instead voiced a forced thanks. 

On the way out, Draco scooped up the textbook from off his desk as well as his stupid, ruddy wand. Clearly he wasn’t getting out of this exam _nor_ gaining access to the Restricted Section. So just like every other day since September 1st, it was back to the bloody library.

~*~*~

With the full swing of the school year starting to take hold, more and more students were frequenting the library. Draco paid them no mind as he meticulously dissected every word on the currently opened page. Characteristics of wood. Different types of cores. Advantages and disadvantages of certain lengths. Yes, yes, he had read all this before. Were these authors incapable of providing anything of actual _meaning_ to him?

The book slammed closed, and Draco hauled it back to the proper aisle he had visited more times than he could count. Thousands of books in the Hogwarts library, dozens of them on this topic, and yet not a single one had given much insight on what the solution was.

Selecting another inevitably unuseful book, Draco brought it to the table he had all but claimed permanent dibs on. He flipped to the index and dragged his finger down to the letter _‘W’_ and then turned to the proper page. Just as expected, though, the chapter’s contents were as basic as all the others. What he needed was something more in depth, not a simple overview for beginners.

Draco tilted back his head, resting it against the top of the chair, and released a slow, deep groan. He stayed there for a few seconds before pulling himself upright and shifting his vision to the roped-off section just a few aisles away. If only Draco could get his hands on the books in there, he was certain he’d find some sort of viable lead.

His entire summer had been spent doing research. Options in the Manor Library were limited after Voldemort had destroyed all books related to the subject in a burst of outrage when none of them had provided him with the information he sought, but any seemingly relevant book from Flourish and Blotts as well as the more questionable titles available at the bookshops on Knockturn Alley were now thoroughly annotated and laying at the bottom of Draco’s trunk. They had formed the foundation of his understanding, but after the fifth or so book, additional knowledge had run dry. The facts became repetitive. Stale. Evidently, some aspects of the craft were reserved solely for the select few who studied wandlore.

If Draco had any hope for success, it was bound to be within the Restricted Section. It was there that Hogwarts kept some of the most valuable and rare books in all of Wizarding Britain. But of course, they couldn’t let the evil former Death Eater touch those precious tomes, not even if they had nothing pertaining to the Dark Arts. No, they couldn’t _dare_ risk letting him close to those books on the off-chance he might single-handedly attempt to spark a Third Wizarding War. Cause that’s what they all still thought of him, wasn’t it?

Disparaged but no less determined, Draco went to return his focus to the book on the slim likelihood that he might actually discover something new. But that plan all went to shite when he caught a glimpse of _her_ from the corner of his eye.

Of course she was there. She was likely the only person in the entire school who rivalled him in amount of time spent within those walls. Same time, same spot; the witch operated like clockwork. With a vast array of notes spread across her typical table, it was easy to conclude that she was already preparing for the upcoming Charms exam.

Well, Draco was also preparing — just not in the way one would conventionally assume.

Draco tried to maintain focus on the new book, but as was the trend every time she arrived, it was now useless. Admitting usual defeat, Draco closed the book and brought it to Madam Pince to check out. Not that he anticipated it would do much good. He’d already read about the fickle properties of Hawthorn wands at least twenty times.

Exiting the library and rounding a corner, Draco reached the Grand Staircases, but instead of waiting for the moving staircase that went down to the Slytherin dungeons, he took the path that led towards the North Tower. 

It was moments like this that he wished the Room of Requirement hadn’t been destroyed in the Final Battle. A secluded space that provided him with precisely what he needed would be ideal. But foolish longing was a waste. So without that as an option, an empty classroom on the sixth floor would suffice.

Not a single soul was around to see Draco as he creaked open the door and slipped inside the shadow-filled classroom. Instead of pulling out the recently checked out book, though, Draco retrieved his wand and a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells._

_Grade 1._

_“_ Lumos _,_ ” he called, but the tip of his wand remained unlit. “ _Lumos,_ ” he tried again, still to no avail. “I said, _LUMOS!_ ”

A brilliant white light blinded his vision, casting the entire room in a blanket of penetrating brightness. When it faded, black specks littered Draco’s vision for several seconds before the wand adjusted the illumination to the proper size and intensity.

Draco hadn’t expected much different. His wand hadn’t cooperated in months. 

His relationship with his wand had always been complicated, from the very first day he had chosen it at Ollivanders. Or rather, it had chosen him.

His mother had gotten to the shop first, picking out wands she thought fitting for her only child, until Draco finished at Madam Malkin's and joined her. It had been a shock when the two-toned Hawthorn wand turned out to be the one for him. He had nothing against the wood type; it was the core that had been a surprise. For generations, everyone in the Black and Malfoy family had had dragon heartstrings as their core. His father, his mother, his Aunt Bellatrix, all four grandparents. Naturally, all the ones his mother had pre-selected had had a dragon heartstring core as well. But apparently, he was destined for a different wand, one with a unicorn tail core. 

Draco had argued with Ollivander, told him that the wand must have made a mistake. He was Draco Malfoy. With his name and his family, surely he was destined for a dragon. But Ollivander wouldn’t hear it. 

_“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Malfoy, and there must be a reason this one selected you.”_

Draco found that hard to believe, but despite his initial protests, he quickly grew to love his wand. It didn’t take long for him to develop a strong bond with it, as he recently learned was typical for wands with unicorn tail cores. But all that started to change during the summer before sixth year. The more he started tampering with the Dark Arts, the less cooperative his wand seemed to become. 

At first, he hardly noticed. Minor delays and the occasional necessity to repeat the spell didn’t seem of great significance. But after the incident on the Astronomy Tower and he unknowingly came into possession of the Elder Wand, his original one grew more and more temperamental, leading to more than a few spell mishaps last school year. It stopped being an issue when Draco had to start using his mother’s wand after losing his own during the skirmish in the Manor’s drawing room, yet the same problems remained even after Potter returned it to him at the conclusion of the war. In fact, they had gotten worse.

The truth was now undeniable. Draco’s bond with his wand was lost; it no longer chose him.

He had briefly considered giving up and getting a new wand, but that proved difficult. Ollivanders was still closed due to necessary repairs from the damage done to it during the war, and Draco’s probation due to Death Eater ties restricted him from travelling outside of Britain for the next five years. His mother had graciously offered that he continue to use her wand until they figured out how to inconspicuously get him a new one, but the truth of the matter was that Draco didn’t _want_ a new wand. 

After the significance of his wand ownership had been so consequential to the conclusion of the war, everyone knew what his wand looked like. Stories about it had been plastered in the Daily Prophet and every other rag magazine. It would be obvious if Draco then returned that school year with something entirely different. With his pride already bruised enough, he didn’t need any more attention drawn to him. 

So far, he’d been able to avoid doing many spells by coercing his class partners to do the magic for them whenever the occasion called for it, but it appeared that tactic wouldn’t save him much longer. If he couldn’t find a way to rebond himself with his wand, he was just going to have to retrain it, starting with the very basics. Only then would he have any hope to pass this Charms exam and, more importantly, his N.E.W.T.s.

Draco didn’t know how long he remained in that classroom, practising the most elementary of spells. Locking, unlocking, severing, mending. Even spells he had mastered years ago now felt like a strain. But slowly, the wand was starting to listen again. Sort of.

The sky had long ago turned onyx, but Draco practised on. Sleep and curfew were less important than this. He’d train through the night if that’s what it took. 

A small swell of pride bubbled in his chest as he watched a single sheet of parchment successfully stay afloat with his Levitation Charm. He hadn’t been able to do that spell in months, and yet, tonight, he had finally remastered it. Perhaps things were finally starting to turn around.

Consumed by his celebration, Draco didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until it was too late.

Draco rushed to shove his belongings into his bag as fast as possible before whoever was on patrol tonight had the chance to catch him out of his dorm so late. He tapped the top of his head with the tip of his wand and called for a Disillusionment Charm, but his natural pale skin remained unaltered.

“Come on,” Draco begged his wand. “Listen to me!”

But nothing changed.

When the classroom door pushed open, Draco was still standing in the middle of the classroom, in clear sight for Hermione Granger to see.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before I caught you out of bed,” she snapped, Head Girl badge proudly pinned to her robes. With an unamused scowl, she turned her head in every direction. “Alright, Malfoy, where is she?”

“Where is who?”

“Whatever witch you’re up here with!”

Draco sneered, not appreciating her presumption. “I’m not up here with anyone.”

But Granger, it appeared, refused to believe him. She moved through the room, peering behind bookcases and under tables, as though determined to catch him in a lie. It wasn’t until she cast a _Humano Revelio_ that came back with negative results that she stopped her search.

“Fine,” she unwillingly accepted. By this point, her arms were firmly crossed against her chest. “Then what are you doing up here?”

“None of your business, Granger,” he spat in response. The last thing he wanted was for her to know about his wand. “So if you’ll just give me my detention, we can both be on our merry way.”

Draco slung his bag over his shoulder and proceeded towards the door, but Granger flicked her wand and locked it.

“Actually, it _is_ my business,” she corrected. “McGonagall specifically told me to report to her if you are out of bed _and_ provide the reason.”

The bridge of Draco’s nose wrinkled and his face contorted. “Can’t trust the former Death Eater, I see.”

She didn’t argue otherwise — a fact that hurt more than it should have.

It didn’t matter that Draco hadn’t uttered that offensive word in over a year. No one notices what you don’t say. But when Dumbledore had chastised Draco for using that word — for calling _her_ that word — in one of his final breaths, it was like the seed of revelation had been planted. It took the rest of the events of that year for that seed to fully develop, but eventually, it did. 

Draco knew now that what he had done was wrong, but no one cared. No one thought him capable of change, not even the witch whose opinion he inexplicably wanted to sway the most. 

But clearly, it was a lost cause. She’d never see him as more than a Death Eater, just like everyone else.

“Tell you what,” Draco said, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and fighting past the pit that now weighed heavy in his gut. “Why don’t you and I just consider this a warning and pretend this never happened? Avoid an unnecessary headache for both of us.”

His shoulder intentionally bumped against hers as Draco marched towards the door. He pulled out his wand, praying it would cooperate and successfully unlock the door like it already had so many other times in practice that evening, but Draco never got that far. The firm grip of Granger’s hand on the strap of his bag, pulling him back her way, made sure of that.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re up here so late.”

All it took was a flick of her wand and all the contents of Draco’s bag removed themselves from within. It wasn’t much. Just a few quills, some parchment, and the textbooks. With any luck, Granger wouldn’t examine the books too closely.

He wasn’t so lucky.

“Why do you have this?’ she asked, forehead scrunched as she picked up his copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1._ “Were you tutoring a first year up here?”

Draco yanked the book out of her hands. “Get your bushy hair out of my business.”

He shoved it back into his bag, alongside the quills and parchment, but Granger got ahold of the second book before he did.

“ _Your Wand and You: A Comprehensive Guide to Wands for Beginners?_ What would you—”

The book was safely back in Draco’s hands before she got to finish the question, but from the dawning expression on her face, it appeared he was too late.

“Your wand’s no longer working properly, is it?”

Draco bared his teeth as he pressed a single finger into her chest. “I said, get _out_ of my business.”

With a sharp turn on his heels, Draco successfully unlocked the door and stormed out, hand clenched tightly around his erratic wand all the way back down to the dungeons.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you wonderful people who have subscribed, commented, given kudos, or have just read the first chapter. I am so excited by the feedback so far! I hope you like this next chapter as well :)
> 
> All the love in the world to my alpha/beta team mcal and lightofevolution. And another downpour of love to HeartofAspen just because 💙

Her stare followed him for the next week. Meals, class, the library. Everywhere he went, the watchful gaze of Hermione Granger seemed to be right there with him. 

He knew what she was looking for. Confirmation. The witch had never been one to sit well with unanswered questions, and he had left her standing in the sixth floor classroom with no answers and only a hunch. Granger could track his every move, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of catching him struggling with his wand. He had become a master at avoiding use of his wand in public and had no intentions of breaking that streak now. 

To his small fortune, the majority of classes they shared together didn’t jeopardise his reveal. Potions, Runes, Arithmancy — none of them required the use of a wand in regular class practice.

But Charms did. 

A week had now passed since their last true encounter, seven days closer to the exam with no sign of significant change with his wand. He arrived in class and dropped the required textbook on his usual desk. Instinctively, his eyes drifted to the front row of seats. The one in the centre was still empty with only a minute before class began. But if Draco was curious where its typical inhabitant was, he needn’t ask long. 

The chair beside him slid backwards, soon filled with a certain blood boiling witch. 

He sneered. “Sure you’ll be able to handle class without your nose right in front of Flitwick?”

“I’ll manage just fine,” Granger said, not a single drop of hesitation. “Sure _you’ll_ be able to handle the spell we’re practising today?” 

She canted her head in challenge, and a trace of panic began to prickle at the under-used magic inside of Draco. He turned to read the chalkboard. As feared, the board was covered with Flitwick’s notes outlining the non-verbal Concealing Charms they’d be practising on buttons today. 

“Shame it’s not wandless magic, don’t you think?” A pleased grin now spread her lips. “But I think I’ll find this topic much more informative.” 

Draco said nothing. They both knew how difficult it was to get even the most willing wand to follow non-verbal directives. Class would be an indisputable disaster. 

The day’s lecture seemed to drag on, though Draco paid little attention. His mind was too set on the wand that would inevitably once more fail him, this time, for all to see — including Granger. 

When the dreaded time for practice finally came, her button disappeared after minimal tries. Not that there was ever any doubt otherwise. And as equally predictable, the same was not true for Draco. 

One, two, ten, twenty. Each attempt was unsuccessful. Yet when nothing but meaningless sparks continued to emit from the tip of his wand, Granger didn’t make a single remark. No quips. No taunts. No comments at all. She just watched him, as though he were something new for her to analyse. That was somehow worse. 

“Mr Malfoy, are you sure you’re mentally pronouncing the spell correctly?” Flitwick asked after witnessing another one of Draco’s failed castings. 

Rising frustration hardened his expression. “Quite positive, sir.”

Flitwick peered at Draco’s wand. “This isn’t Dogwood, is it?”

“No, sir,” Draco said, wishing the professor would leave him alone already. “Hawthorn.”

“Ah, then there shouldn’t be any issues with its ability to produce non-verbal spells.”

Draco forced back a snarl. “One would think.”

Flitwick nodded, contemplating for only a moment before stating, “Then I suggest you spend some extra time this week practising your spellwork before the exam. Non-verbals can be very tricky!” He offered a smile before flickering his gaze to the witch still beside Draco. “Perhaps you could learn something by watching Miss Granger.”

It was as though the small wizard was aiming to torture Draco.

“Yes, sir,” he forced out.

When Flitwick turned from them, Draco braced himself. Surely, Granger would have some snotty remark after _that._ Boss her way through an explanation about how even with an uncooperative wand, all it took was proper concentration, if only Draco tried harder. He’d seen her lecture Weasley and Potter like this countless times. Why miss the opportunity to now disparage Draco in the same way?

Yet all he found was the stern look of deep thinking etched across her brows. 

Mercifully, class ended moments later. He was spared from whatever conclusion she was about to make. 

Draco shoved his textbook into his bag. “Satisfied, Granger?”

He pushed his way past the other eighth years and into the rush of the crowded corridor. Younger students instantly moved out of his way, but he couldn’t lose the pattering footsteps following close behind. 

“I could help you!”

Draco whipped around. “I don’t _need_ help.”

“Class today proved otherwise.”

Ice trickled down his veins. “I already told you,” he sneered. “ _Mind your own business._ ”

His robes billowed behind him as he sharply turned from her and stormed off. Pounding tension pulsed inside his temples, sure to sprout a headache later. All he wanted was to retreat back into his dormitory and be rid of her. 

He only made it three more steps before her shout bounced off the stone-lined walls.

“It’s not your wand wood that’s the problem!”

Draco halted and immediately jerked his head around. “What part of ' _Mind your own business?’_ do you not understand?”

Yet no amount of snarls seemed able to deter her. Eyes never leaving his direction, Granger closed the space between them, her chest mere inches away from the shallow breathing of his.

“It’s not your wand wood,” she repeated. “It’s your unicorn core.”

The muscles in his neck and upper back tightened. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in her resolve. None. She said it so plainly, so clearly, as though she had just provided him with the key to solve the puzzle. One session of sitting next to him in class and she now thought herself an expert in what he’d been researching for months? 

His upper lip began to twitch. “How fortunate you must be to always have the answer to everything,” he jeered, hand quaking by his side. “Or must what you say be true because Potter’s booksmart know-it-all deems it so?”

Finally, she broke. Her expression promptly shifted as her cheeks flared red. “If you’re going to be a jerk about it, then forget it,” she bitterly snapped, any trace of magnanimity now gone from her eyes. “I was just trying to be nice. Not that you deserve it. You clearly haven’t learned a thing from the war if you still think it’s better to close yourself off and refuse the help of others.”

Granger turned to stomp away, but an unsettling feeling was now twisting his stomach. That inexplicable need to prove himself a changed man, to prove to _her_ that her opinion of him was wrong, had resurfaced, and his opportunity was slipping out of reach the farther she got.

He lunged out and reached for her hand. “Wait.”

Wide surprise alerted her gaze as she looked back to see Draco’s hand holding hers. Her vision lingered on the connection for only a flicker of a moment before Draco promptly dropped it and Granger blinked herself back to focus.

Draco’s tongue felt heavy, but he managed to push the words out anyway. “I— I need your help.”

She narrowed her eyelids and canted her head ever so slightly, as though waiting for the catch. But Draco didn’t say anything else. She was right; he needed help.

“Meet me outside the Entrance Hall at ten minutes past curfew,” she eventually concluded. “And _don’t_ get caught this time.”

~*~*~

The sun had long ago dipped behind the Scottish Highland, the dark sky now sprinkled with a casting of stars. A nighttime breeze flew through the air, and Draco secured the latch of his cloak as he peered back at the castle’s main entrance, waiting. It was now a quarter past nine, and Granger still hadn’t appeared. 

Budding doubt began to torment him. Had all this been a set up? A second chance at getting Draco out of bed past curfew so she could actually turn him into McGonagall this time? That was certainly the type of trick Draco would pull. But Granger wasn’t like him. If she was going to turn him into McGonagall, she would have done it the first time. Yet for whatever reason, she hadn’t, and now, she was supposedly trying to help him.

_Bloody Gryffindors._

Finally, she appeared through the arched doorway, a book cradled by her side.

“What took you so—”

Granger shot him a sharp glare that cut his words short. She tugged him into a nearby shadow and took out her wand. 

“Stay still,” she whispered before tapping the top of his head with the wand’s tip. 

The cold trickle of a Disillusionment Charm ran down Draco’s body like an icy water bath. Within seconds, the charm had fully spread through his body, blending him into the surroundings. She quickly did the same to herself and still without explanation, pulled Draco to follow her past the castle and across the grounds.

“Where are we—”

“ _Shh!”_

He was tempted to hiss something back, to make a snide remark about her not letting him complete a thought, but he forced his lips closed. She clearly had a plan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Granger’s plans tended to work. 

They walked in silence as the castle grew further into the distance. Draco’s mind worked through the possible places she was leading him. Was there something she needed from the giant oaf? Or did she just want to meet in a place where they wouldn’t risk being seen? He wasn’t sure.

He was leaning towards the first theory, yet they didn’t stop at the Groundskeeper’s hut. No, they kept walking — straight towards the Forbidden Forest.

Draco halted. “I’m not going in there.”

“Yes, you are,” she firmly directed. “Trust me.”

Draco couldn’t withhold his resulting laugh. “ _Trust_ you? Under what circumstances should I so blindly trust you? The last person you led into the Forbidden Forest was nearly stampeded to death by a herd of centaurs!”

“That was Umbridge’s own fault for inciting the centaurs to such a rage,” she plainly defended. “Besides, she deserved it.”

Draco huffed. “And I’m supposed to believe you don’t think I deserve the same, if not worse?”

A stilled silence hung over them as the question lingered unanswered. In their Disillusioned state, he couldn’t even see her face to gauge her reaction. But Draco didn’t need to physically see her to mentally picture it. She may be helping him, but he knew her feelings towards him hadn’t shifted. All she had to do was confirm it.

After several seconds, her response finally came.

“No, I do not.”

Draco’s incredulous stare shot to the space where he imagined her to be. “You… _don’t_?” He blinked, trying to get his grip back on reality. “How can that possibly be true?”

A thin exhale came from her direction before her wand appeared from within her camouflaged robes and removed the charm. She averted her gaze even though she still couldn’t see Draco. “You didn’t identify us at the Manor.”

His face fell. “Yes, I did,” he said, voice tight as he recalled the incident. “I confirmed it was you and Weasley.”

“I know,” she said, a small choke in her words. “But only after your parents recognised us first. I— I could tell you didn’t want to.”

Draco swallowed, remembering the day all too vividly. The unceremonious throwing of the prisoners on the drawing room tiles. The dirt and grime that caked their skin. The panic in her eyes when she peered into him, a silent plea not to betray them.

Suddenly, he understood.

“Is that what this is?” Draco asked. “Your way of saying ‘Thank you’ for me not turning you in?”

She still didn’t meet his eyes. “In a way.” She gathered her curls and pushed them over one shoulder. “But I also don’t think it fair that you have to go through this school year with an uncooperative wand after all the help it gave Harry.”

Right. Because everything had to relate back to Harry fucking Potter.

But Draco didn’t voice his dissent. She didn’t see him as the absolute devil, and for now, that would suffice.

“Alright, Granger.” He stepped in front of her so she could remove the Disillusionment Charm on him as well. “Then do you care to explain why you’ve taken me _here_ of all places?”

She tapped the concealed object resting on her arm, and the book she had brought with her returned to sight.

“Because it’s how we’re going to get you rebonded with your wand.”

Her words were absolutely certain, but Draco didn’t get his hopes up. He’d spent all summer trying to find a way to do precisely that and had come up with nothing. Yet she had managed to find the answer in a matter of hours? He highly doubted it. Not even Hermione Granger could be that good.

He caught a glimpse of the book’s cover before she began leafing through it, but it wasn’t a title Draco recognized from any of his prior research. It wasn’t even one of the books whose spines he had been longfully eyeing within the Restricted Section. No, she had somehow gotten ahold of a completely different tome, one that appeared centuries old.

The book levitated mid-air as Granger delicately flipped the pages. Curious to see for himself, Draco examined it over her shoulder and scanned the contents. Everything was laid out in elaborate detail with accompanying drawings and diagrams, much beyond anything he had been able to get ahold of on his own. It was more than just the basic description of woods, cores, and lengths; it went into the theory, _the craft_.

“Where did you get this from?” he asked.

Granger didn’t look up from her turning. “Ollivander let me borrow it for the semester.”

Draco let out an incredulous laugh. She said it so simply, as though it was no big deal that Wizarding Britain’s premiere wandmaker had lent her what was clearly one of the family’s ancestral trade books. 

“A little light reading between studying?” he quipped.

“I was merely curious to know more about the subject,” she said. “After wandlore played such an integral part to the end of the war, I wanted to learn more about witches and wizards’ relationships with their wands.”

 _How convenient._ But Draco was in no position to taunt or complain. Her curiosity just might be his saving grace. 

Her page turning paused on a page with a drawing of a unicorn with a flowing mane. At the top was scribed, _“The Purity of Unicorn Cores_. _”_

“I’ve already read about the properties of unicorn cores,” Draco said, hoping this wasn’t all Granger intended to show him. “Produce consistent magic, least susceptible to fluctuations and blockages, and—”

“Is most resistant to Dark Magic.”

Draco tensed. “I was going to say that they did not make the most powerful of wands, but that is also true.”

“But it’s the Dark Magic part that must be relevant here,” Granger insisted. Her tone grew solemn. “Face it, Malfoy. You did things your wand wasn’t designed to do, and it broke the trust you had with each other. It likely only got worse when you became the owner of a different wand and then Harry of yours.”

“Because unicorn core wands are also the most prone to melancholy if mishandled,” he said below his breath. 

“Precisely.”

Draco reached into his pocket and grasped the handle of his wand. None of this was news to him. Even before Granger had declared the core as the source of his problem, he had suspected this to be the case. Retrospect had made it evident that the more he tampered with Dark Arts, the less his wand responded. It didn’t matter that Potter had let Draco disarm him in order to regain the Hawthorn wand’s allegiance. The damage and mistrust Draco had incited between him and his wand ran deeper than that. 

Yet clarity of the source of the problem didn’t solve matters. His wand still didn’t work.

The looming height of the nearby forest cast their long shadows across the grass. She had led him to the Forbidden Forest for a reason — _to get him rebonded with his wand._

The pieces clicked together. “What does that book say about unicorn core wands that have been tainted by Dark Magic?”

Granger flipped to the next page, pointing to a list of steps. “It says here that the only way to fix it is to do a cleansing ritual that eradicates the Dark Magic from both your wand and your soul. But to do that, we’re going to need to find a unicorn.”

Draco’s gaze flitted into the grim blackness between the tree trunks. He still didn’t want to go in there, but he didn’t seem to have any other option.

“Alright, then, Granger,” he said, steeling up his nerves. “You lead the way.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in this final chapter -- the world is a bit crazy right now.
> 
> One final thank you to LightofEvoluton who was a real superhero this week and a massive downpour of love to HeartofAspen. 
> 
> And to all you wonderful readers, thank you for your patience and for reading. I hope you enjoy this final chapter!

The crunching of autumn leaves and fallen branches were all that filled Draco’s ears as they crossed the threshold into the Forbidden Forest. His eyes were in constant motion, on the lookout for anything significant. Yes, he was searching for a unicorn, but he was also mindful of anything that may be of alarm or concern. Now more than ever, he wished his wand was functional. Werewolves, centaurs, hags. There was no telling what could attack them.

The trees grew increasingly denser, the farther in Granger and he got. Rough bark lined their exterior, weathered from the hundreds of years they’d been growing. A canopy of thick leaves blocked the moonlight, so the only source of light was from the tip of Granger’s wand. 

Draco didn’t like it. It made him feel trapped. Lost. And the surrounding howls and other distant noises weren’t making it any better.

“Are you considering a career in wand-making?” Draco asked, needing the conversation to take his mind off their surroundings.

“Not particularly,” she returned. Her attention was just as focused elsewhere, though she didn’t appear half as concerned as he was to be in the Forbidden Forest so late at night. “It’s an interesting subject, but there isn’t much need for another wandmaker when we already have Ollivander.”

“Erm, right.”

Their words fell away, once more replaced by the sound of snapping twigs, until Granger spoke again.

“How about you? Do you know what you want to do?”

Draco shrugged. “Haven’t decided. Potentially a position in potions or—”

Something rustled in the nearby foliage, and Draco jolted. He impulsively reached for his wand — though he knew it wouldn’t do much good — and aimed it squarely at the source of the disturbance. Adrenaline propelling through his veins, Draco poised to attack as best he could when the threat revealed itself, yet all that peeked out through the overgrown knotgrass was a harmless Bowtruckle.

As Draco fumbled to regain his composure, Granger did a foul attempt at muffling her snicker. “Scared that Bowtruckle may mistake you for a tree and try to make a home in your shirt pocket?”

Draco was not amused. “For all we knew, it could have been a baby Acromantula,” he snapped, frazzled nerves only now starting to wither.

“Oh, please,” Granger instantly dismissed. “From what Ron and Harry told me, the Acromantulas are much deeper in the forest.”

His agitation resurfaced. Just what Draco wanted. _Another_ mention of the almighty Harry Potter and his bloody adventures.

“Let’s move on,” Draco settled with a gruff rumble. “The sooner we find a unicorn, the better.” 

He continued his trek through the forest, and while Granger quickly followed, it appeared she hadn’t caught onto the literal _and_ figurative meaning behind his insistence that they _‘move on.’_

“What has you so tightly wound? It’s not like this is your first time here,” she said as her shorter legs hustled to keep pace with his longer strides. “You survived a war, yet you’re scared of some trees?”

He was beginning to regret agreeing to her help. She had already pushed her way into his personal business with his wand. Was she not satisfied? Yet as much as Draco didn’t want to answer the question, he was also fully aware of how insufferable she’d be if he didn’t. 

“It’s not the trees I’m scared of,” he tightly responded, his focus remaining locked forward on their surroundings. “It’s what lurks between them.”

“You made it out just fine last time.”

“Only _after_ I was attacked by a half-alive parasitic version of Lord Voldemort!” Draco briskly retorted. “Unlike you and your reckless friends, I don’t make a habit of intentionally putting myself in life-threatening situations.”

Granger let out a soft snort. “Honestly, we would have preferred to stay out of half of those situations as well!” she said, the beginning traces of a smile inching up her lips. “Just admit it, Malfoy. When it comes to the Forbidden Forest, you’re as much of a scaredy-cat as you were when we were first years,” she taunted with a grin. “To think I actually _wanted_ to be your partner that night!”

Draco felt the heat rush to his cheeks. “Excuse you, but I have perfectly valid—” 

The impulse to defend himself promptly died on his tongue when his brain finished processing everything else she had said.

“Wait.” He stopped his moving again, forehead wrinkled as he turned to Granger. “In what warped version of the past did you _want_ to be my detention partner?”

She seemed to stagger slightly before she, too, came to a stop. “Don’t think too much of it, Malfoy,” she said, her eyes not completely meeting his as she brushed away a few loose curls. “The choice was between you, Harry, and Neville, and you seemed to be the one most knowledgeable about the forest, even if you _were_ scared. That’s all.”

Granger made to keep walking, but something felt off. 

He caught her hand and pulled her back. “Bloody _codswallop_.”

It took several silent seconds for Draco to realise he hadn’t yet dropped his hold on her, and only a splinter after that to see the faint pink flush now tainting her cheeks.

“Seriously, Malfoy,” she insisted, her voice slightly breaking as she yanked her hand free. “It was nothing.” She turned her back to him and resumed walking. “Like you said, let’s move on. We need to find a unicorn before they go to sleep.”

The distance between them widened, but Draco remained rooted to his spot, eyes never leaving her form. His mind flashed back to that night so many years back, the first time they’d been in the Forbidden Forest. 

The most frightened of them had been, without a doubt, Longbottom, but Granger hadn’t exactly shown her Gryffindor colours, either. If memory served Draco right — which he was absolutely certain it did — the witch had been terrified silent their entire journey into the woods. Her feelings towards roaming amongst the darkened trees may have shifted since then, but the fact that the Forbidden Forest had once made the proud Hermione Granger fearful had not. And he was supposed to believe she had wanted _him_ to be the one by her side as they navigated into the dangerous unknown?

She was hiding something. As a master of secrets himself, he could sense it.

Granger didn’t want to partner with him because of his knowledge about the Forbidden Forest; she wanted to partner with him because she wanted an excuse for them to be alone.

His mind scrambled to make sense of it, come up with an explanation as to why that could be. 

An idea clicked. 

“Did you... fancy me?”

An indescribable wave pulsed through him when he heard how ridiculous the question sounded out loud. Of course that couldn’t be the reason. He had been an utter prat to her since the moment they’d met. Under what circumstances could this be the case? And yet, he didn’t entirely hate the notion… 

A bark of laughter echoed through the trees. “Not a chance, Malfoy!”

Draco stiffened as Granger let out another sharp laugh. “You don’t have to sound _so_ opposed,” he said with a huff. He took a single step towards her, arms now folded across his chest. “But if that’s not the reason, then why did you really want to be my partner that night?”

The question hung in the air, the surrounding sounds of the Forbidden Forest once more becoming evident. Draco tuned it out. The forest was no longer his main concern. He needed an answer.

She crossed her arms against her chest as though they’d serve as some sort of shield to his approaching footsteps. She did her best to maintain a steely expression, but the closer he got, the more it broke, until he was close enough to see the flash of pink that had returned across her cheeks. 

With only a single pace left between them, Draco stopped to look at her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“If you didn’t want me to know, then you shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said, his voice now gruff. “You know my secret. It’s time to fess up yours.”

She snapped her head up to look at him, her gaze finally connecting with his. “Because I was curious about you, okay?”

It wasn’t enough. “Curious _how_?”

Granger huffed before she peered off into the distance. Her vision lingered there for several seconds until she let out a long sigh and the tension in her shoulders slightly slackened. 

“I didn’t like Harry and Ron very much when I first met them,” she began to explain, her words milder than before, but still holding a small edge to them. “I found them immature and reckless and overly full of themselves.”

Draco snorted. “Ahh, something we can agree upon.”

She shot him a sidelong glare. “Do you want my answer or not?” she challenged, and Draco didn’t interrupt again. “No, I didn’t like Harry and Ron very much at the beginning, but as I actually got to know them, they became my best friends. And let me repeat — just in case it wasn’t clear the first time — that I, in no way, had _‘fancied’_ you,” she said with a huff, arms now firmly folded across her chest. “I merely recognised your talent and intelligence and thought there was a chance that if you and I had the opportunity to spend time alone outside of your constant attempts to irritate Ron and Harry, we could find common ground. I wanted to believe there was more to you than your pompous, prattish ways.” She sighed. “And I held on hope for a bit. But I gave up at the beginning of second year.”

A heavy lump formed in his gut. “After I called you a—” 

“Mudblood.”

He swallowed thickly at her voicing of the word. It’d be a lie to say he hadn’t heard it since the end of the war. Hell, he’d heard whispers of it in the Slytherin Common Room only a few days ago. The war was over, but so many opinions had yet to change. But his had.

“I’m sorry for that,” he croaked. “I was young.”

“And the rest of us weren’t?”

“No, we all were, so I suppose that’s just an excuse,” he weakly returned. He released a slow, heavy breath and stared down at his shoes. “I too blindly listened to what I had been told and didn’t understand until I was too far deep. My age wasn’t to blame; it was my naivety. I wanted to stand my ground, defend what I’d been taught, but it all came falling apart after sixth year. And when we started taking prisoners at the Manor… and I saw what Voldemort did to Professor Burbage…” He sucked in a deep breath. “No one deserves that fate.”

He looked back up and found her eyes, a softness now glossing over them that he’d never seen directed at him before.

“So is that why you didn’t identify us?”

Draco nodded. “As I said, no one deserves that fate, not even Potter and Weasley.”

“Then what about me?”

His heart was in his throat. Memory of her being tortured on his drawing room floor was muddled by the blow in his chest at the resurgence of the raw pain he had felt witnessing it. He had felt hopeless, wanting to stop it, but not knowing how. 

Suddenly, Draco understood why she was the person he wanted to prove himself a changed man the most to. 

“I have never liked Potter and Weasley and likely never will,” he carefully began, “but you’re a brilliant witch, and it was my own ignorance that prevented me from ever saying that to you earlier.” He emitted a soft chuckle before staring deep into her eyes. “For as much as my younger self never wanted to admit it, I now recognise your talent and intelligence as well.”

With one single confession, the overwhelming burden of guilt began to lift off his chest. It could never undo what he had done — nothing ever could — but the recognition of his errors was a start.

He didn’t expect anything in return from Granger. He wasn’t sure he deserved it. Yet when he continued to stare at her, he felt a shift between them. As if this was what she had been hoping for since their first night in the forest — simple recognition of her as his equal.

The moment promptly ended, though, when Draco caught sight of something approaching from the shadows. Amongst the sea of black appeared a brilliant white presence brighter than fresh powder snow on a sunlit morning. Even with minimal illumination from above, its horn glistened and sparkled like the most flawless gem in the Malfoy Gringotts vault. And there, beside the grown unicorn, shone the golden coat of its child.

Nothing but shortened breathing escaped him and Granger as the pair of unicorns slowly trotted towards them. The sight of a unicorn was never less than stunning. But it wasn’t the full-grown unicorn that garnered most of Draco’s attention; it was the baby. Based on its small stature, the young unicorn couldn’t have been more than a couple months old, too young to know about the battle that had waged just beyond the forest it now considered its home. Where was the baby’s other parent? Had it been another undeserving victim in the final hours of the war? Draco didn’t want to know.

Beside him, Granger had retrieved Ollivander’s book she had previously shrunk into her robes pocket. She once more turned to the page about the Rebonding Ritual.

“You need to wait for the unicorn to approach you,” Granger whispered in instruction. “The ritual won’t work if the unicorn isn’t here on its own accord.”

Draco nodded his understanding, though his mouth instantly ran dry. He wasn’t sure what he would do if this didn’t work.

The pair of unicorns was still several feet away when the adult one stopped. Momentary fear trickled through Draco that this meant that the baby would stop as well, but it continued its path straight towards Draco.

“This is a good start,” Granger continued to whisper. “Baby unicorns are much more trustworthy and receptive to male touch.”

Draco remembered that detail from Grubbly-Plank’s lessons, but he didn’t bother to say as much. He was too transfixed by the fact that the unicorn was actually approaching him, until finally, it paused right in front of Draco’s feet.

Mild relief began to sprout inside him. “It’s beautiful,” Draco marvelled. “Can I touch it?”

“As long as you’re respectful,” Granger advised. “If it moves away, pins its ears, or raises its head, pull back. We don’t want it to run away.”

With tentative fingers, Draco slowly reached out to touch the baby unicorn’s golden coat. It was like touching the finest silk robes at Madam Malkin's. Flawless. And to Draco’s great relief, the unicorn didn’t back away. He even lowered his head and stepped closer.

“I think it likes you,” he heard Granger say.

“Thank Merlin,” he returned, eyes still locked on the magical creature leaning into his touch. But he wasn’t here to make a new friend. “So what’s next?”

Granger placed a charm on the book and it drifted into the air. She pointed her finger mid-page and began to read. 

_“The Rebonding Ritual between a witch or wizard and their wand is a delicate process and must be completed in front of a living, willing unicorn. As the runic symbol of the number one, unicorns have a powerful presence that, when used appropriately, can repair a broken connection through a soul cleansing process. A hair from the unicorn must be carefully removed from the unicorn’s tail and used to wrap around the wand owner’s hand with the wand in their grip._ _A partner must then recite ‘Munda meam’ to activate the cleansing process. While anyone can do the spell, it is most likely to work when—”_ her words momentarily halted before she finished _“—when completed by someone the wand and its owner have wronged._ ”

Draco froze his petting of the unicorn, the full process of the ritual sinking in. “Then I suppose I’m lucky you’re the one here with me,” he darkly noted. 

The book flipped closed. “ _Lucky?_ ” Granger laughed — actually laughed — as she peered at Draco with mild disbelief. “You honestly think I didn’t already know what this ritual entailed when I offered my help? I spent all of last week digging in here for potential answers about your failing wand. Of course I knew the benefit of me being the one to do the spell!” A cool night breeze brushed past them, and Granger pushed a few flyaway curls from her face. “I could have simply dismissed your issues or plainly handed you the ritual and had you figure out for yourself what to do with it, but I didn’t.” She tilted her head and offered him a half smile. “Because I think we all deserve a fresh start sometimes, don’t you?”

A warmth blossomed in Draco’s chest as a grin cracked his lips. “I’m certainly not opposed.”

The preparations weren’t difficult. All the spell required was a single unicorn hair, which the baby hardly noticed was taken from its tail. Draco then watched in silence as the cool touch of Granger’s slender fingers gingerly bound the hair around his hand and wand, cautious of the possibility that the thin thread could break. As directed by the book’s drawings, Granger looped the hair once around his hand gripping his wand to represent Draco, twisted it twice to represent the intertwined relationship between the wand and its owner, and then looped it around again to represent the wand itself. The remaining length, of which there wasn’t much, dangled in the growing breeze.

Nerves danced inside Draco while the baby unicorn stood witness. He prayed to Merlin this would work. But with Granger performing the spell, he knew he was in good hands.

“You ready?”

Draco nodded.

“Close your eyes.” 

He caught a final glimpse of Granger’s wand poised at the ready before he did what he was told. 

“Hold still,“ she instructed. “And whatever happens, don’t let go of your wand. It will be over soon.”

The voicing of the spell didn’t register in Draco’s brain, too distracted by the blinding light that emitted from the tip of her wand and strained his vision. Like a jolt of lightning, something zapped at his wand hand, causing a surge of shock to ripple through his system. A blazing heat radiated up his arm, spread across his chest, and travelled to every extremity. Draco blinked, trying to bring his vision back to the forest, but all he found was a never-ending void of whiteness. Gone were the trees, the unicorn, Granger. He saw nothing.

The heat started to dwindle, and Draco latched onto hope that the worst of the ritual was complete. A veil of grey reappeared over his eyes, yet instead of his vision returning to the darkened landscape, he was confronted by a series of materialised memories.

Disarming Dumbledore, attempting to _Crucio_ Potter, poisoning the mead, _Imperio-_ ing Madam Rosmerta. The scenes came in flashes like repeated stabs to his morality. Petrifying Potter, spying on Dumbledore’s Army, blasting a curse on Granger’s teeth. He knew these moments; he had lived these moments. Enchanting the buttons, summoning that snake.

In each new flash of memory, Draco grew younger and the offence turned less extreme, but the blow in his chest was all the same. The moments were linked like breadcrumbs guiding a pathway in reverse — the trail of events that had shaped him into the wizard he had become, the one who had done so much wrong.

“I fucked up, I know!” he shouted at no one. “You think I don’t already realise that?”

Suddenly, a searing pain scorched the palm gripping his wand, and Draco let out a scream. It was agony. Torture. 

Retribution.

Wave after wave of harrowing torment seemed to penetrate every last cell in his system. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But no matter how bad it hurt, not once did Draco loosen his hold on his wand. 

A shock of bright white once more obscured his vision, and the pain promptly stopped. Draco fell to his knees, short breaths panting out his lips as he regained his senses. Both palms pressed flat against a smooth, blank floor, and a startling realisation struck him. His wand was gone.

Draco’s eyes darted across the floor, searching for where he may have dropped it, but it was nowhere to be seen. His focus was pulled elsewhere, though, when he properly observed his surroundings, discovering that he was back inside another memory. Only this time, he wasn’t witnessing it. He was reliving it.

Rows of narrow boxes precariously stacked on top of one another lined his periphery while directly in front of him stood a white-haired wizard with wide, pale eyes.

A voice boomed like an echo from all around.

_“It’s a rare thing for a wizard of your background to be selected by such a wand, Mr Malfoy. A rare thing, indeed. The purity of a unicorn tail wand is not to be taken lightly, and you’d be wise to remember that. We must never forget that the wand picks the wizard, and there must be a good reason that this one selected you.”_

A frail hand picked up a wand box and outstretched it to Draco. He removed the lid, revealing his Hawthorn wand, still in its pristine condition, years from being tainted by Draco’s choices.

Staggering heartbeats jumped inside his chest as Draco reached for the wand. His fingers trembled before wrapping around the familiar smooth, black handle, and he felt the same warmth in his fingertips that he had experienced the first time he had picked up this wand. He raised it in the air, and a stream of sparks emitted from its tip. Yet these weren’t meaningless sparks like the ones when he had tried to perform the nonverbal spells; they were sparks of celebration.

A shower of golden dancing lights illuminated the wand shop until they filled the space and blurred Draco’s vision one last time. When they cleared, he was back in the Forbidden Forest.

Granger rushed towards him. “Are you alright?” Her hands braced his biceps as she checked him head to toe.

There was a short skip in his pulse that Draco quickly moved past. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “A tad lightheaded is all.”

Her gaze transferred to his wand, still in his hand from the memory at Ollivanders. “Did it work?”

Draco stilled his breathing. The wand worked in the memory. But would it work now?

He adjusted his grip on the handle and looked out at his surroundings. The unicorns were no longer there. A faint pit formed in his stomach. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.

Lifting his chin up, Draco straightened himself out. No more stalling.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the spell. “ _Lumos._ ”

The tip of the Hawthorn wand immediately illuminated. No need for repetition or shouting. It simply _listened_.

A smile beamed across Draco’s lips. He chuckled. _Laughed_. His wand _worked._

Even Granger was smiling as Draco performed spell after spell. _Nox. Aguamenti. Engorgio._ _Accio._ He executed each one of them with perfect precision.

There was a lightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in ages, like the burden of the past few years had finally been taken off his shoulders. Yet a lingering question remained.

“Why do you think this wand chose me?”

Her head slightly canted. “You mean, why a wand with a unicorn tail core?”

His expression cast downward to the wand spinning between two fingers. “Yes.”

He expected her to consider the question for several minutes, yet her response came immediately.

“Perhaps it sensed that you were going to be tempted by the Dark Arts but also saw the potential for good in you as well,” she said before offering him a small grin. “After all, I couldn’t be the only one who believed there was more to you than an overinflated ego and slicked back blond hair.”

Draco lightly snorted. “That hair really was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“Dreadful,” she agreed, her grin growing ever brighter. “You’re much cuter now.”

His ears perked. Cute? She thought he was _cute_?

From the wide-eyed shock on her face, it appeared Granger was just as surprised by her own admission. The same pink-tinted flush that had adorned her cheeks earlier resurfaced. And Draco had to admit the look made her rather cute herself.

A smirk crept across Draco’s lips as he raised one arm and slowly pushed his fingers through his hair, but Granger’s sudden gasp stopped him before he could actually say anything.

Momentary concern washed over him, fearful that she had just now noticed something that had gone wrong with the ritual, but Granger’s reaction was not one of horror. He hardly had time to process before Granger had tugged his wrist into her hold and yanked up his loose robes sleeve — the left sleeve — revealing an unmarked forearm. 

All other thoughts fell from Draco’s mind. “It’s gone.”

Draco held his breath as two of Granger’s fingers brushed over the area where his faded Dark Mark had been mere minutes earlier. He had regretted getting it the moment it was forcibly seared into his skin. Never had he dreamed that it would ever be fully removed. And yet, somehow, the ritual had done that as well.

“A cleansing ritual that eradicates the Dark Magic from both your wand and your soul,” she softly spoke, Draco now recalling those words from her initial description of the Rebonding Ritual. She looked up at him with wide, brown eyes and smiled. “The spell really did work.”

A tingle fluttered in his chest. “This truly is a fresh start.” 

They walked back to the castle together, Draco now able to cast his own Disillusionment Charm. The spell was still a tad rusty, but it was infinitely better than the last time he had tried it. He accepted that some aspects of his wandwork were going to need practice. That would all improve with time, though. As for now, he was simply happy to have his bond with his wand back.

Careful not to make a loud enough noise for Filch or Mrs Norris to notice, Granger pulled open the castle doors, and they slipped back inside. No one crossed their paths as they proceeded to the Grand Staircases, the point where they would go their separate ways. They exchanged whispered goodnights, but when it came time for Draco to take the path down to the dungeons, he found he wasn’t ready. 

It had been an eventful evening, and despite his initial reservations, he was endlessly grateful for Granger’s help. But it was more than just that. Once their barriers had crumbled, their lingering animosity had faded along with it. It seemed that Granger’s intuition about them during first year had been right: there _was_ common ground between them. He had just been too prejudiced to see it. But now that he had, he didn’t want things to go back to the way they had been before.

He heard the sound of Granger’s footsteps headed up one of the staircases, and Draco chased after her. 

“Wait!”

It was harder to find her in a Disillusioned state but his hand found the curve of her shoulder just fine. He removed the spell on them both.

“Malfoy, what are you—”

“What if I had never been a pureblood prat?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “Excuse me?”

“What if I had never been a pureblood prat,” he repeated, hoping she didn’t notice the mild desperation in his tone, “and instead, you and I had gotten to properly know each other. Do you think things could have been… different between us?”

She released a gentle snicker. “Well, they certainly couldn’t have been much worse,” she cleverly retorted. “But as it turns out, when you’re not trying to undermine my existence, you’re not too terrible.”

Newfound easiness lightened his muscles while a slow smirk crept up Draco’s lips. “Not too terrible,” he taunted, eyebrow now raised, “and perhaps not too bad looking either?"

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let your ego reinflate over a single comment.”

“Ah, but if I recall correctly, you also called me talented _and_ intelligent, so that’s actually _three_ comments,” Draco playfully toyed, a swell of confidence now brimming in his chest. “If you’re not careful, Granger, you might have to amend your insistence that there’s no chance that you’d fancy me.”

Granger huffed, yet Draco caught a sense of pertness behind the dismissal. “So you’re no longer a pureblood prat, just your typical pompous one.”

He let out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it,” he accepted. “But as long as I’m a pompous prat that you wouldn’t mind spending more time with in the future, I’ll allow it.”

With a parting wink, Draco turned from her, now satisfied with how he left things, but he only made it a few steps before Granger called after him.

“Would you like to study for the Charms exam together?”

Draco spun around, a tad concerned that his grin around her was growing permanent. “Shouldn’t you be afraid that you won’t get the highest score now that my wand is fully functioning again?”

He twirled his wand between his fingers, and Granger flashed a smile of her own as she shrugged. “Where’s the fun in test taking if there isn’t a bit of competition involved?”

Draco quite liked the sound of that.

“I’ll be in the library tomorrow night at half past seven. You can find me…”

“Third table on the left next to the Transfiguration section.” Draco smirked. “I know.”

Granger gave him a nod, and he was positive the blush on her cheeks had returned. “I’ll see you then.”

As Draco finally made his way back to the Slytherin dormitory, he travelled down the steps with a lightness to his gait. Wand in his hand, he emitted a trail of celebratory sparks, not concerned in the slightest if he got caught. His bond with his wand was back, but with the study plan in place, he had a feeling that his bonding time with Granger was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated and bring all the joy 💙
> 
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